


Suppress that shit

by appalachian_fireflies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Depression, Desperation, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Parent Death, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Suicidality, Suppressant withdrawal, Vaginal Sex, past sexual abuse of a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's been on street suppressants for years to cope with something he doesn't want to talk about, thanks.  He gets why the hospital is making noises about liver failure, but he couldn't care less.  They don't get it.  This alpha they're sending him to isn't going to either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this fic was inspired by a fic that had a "compassionate care center" or something similar for omegas. Of course, I remember basically nothing else, as it's been years. If someone could let me know what that fic is so I can cite my sources, I'd be super appreciative. 
> 
> In real life, no one really gives a shit if you get hurt and need help. You pretty much have to pull yourself up. Or not. Fantasy is much better imho, but feel free to be annoyed by the expectations it sets!

Steve wouldn’t be in this shitty fucking situation at all if it weren’t for his boss overreacting. 

Sure, he was having _an attack_ , and yeah it was probably scary to watch your employee struggle to breathe, but really, ambulances were for _emergencies_.

 _That one’s going on your insurance plan, pal,_ Steve thinks vindictively. 

The monitors keep beeping around him like he needs to have his heart rate and blood pressure watched, which is excessive. He rolls over to face the wall, and tries not to hear the nurses outside chatting about what they’re going to do with him. 

At first, they’d pumped him full of steroids, told him he was fine and they’d have him out in a couple hours, which was exactly what he'd told his boss they'd do. And, ok, he does know that he can’t actually blame her for this. He’d been the idiot who’d forgotten his inhaler at home. On a cold day, when the bus didn’t come and he had to walk a couple miles while he wheezed in the icy air. Then Sam had dropped that bag of soy flour, which was a perfectly normal hazard of the job, and presto, an asthma attack. 

Maybe he should’ve stayed in retail. Or maybe he shouldn’t have gotten a fucking fine arts degree with no surviving family to fall back on in a society that forgot about patrons a coupla centries ago. Maybe that. 

He’d only been about half conscious when he realized the IV (why the hell do they stick every patient with an IV, anyway?) had turned into a blood draw. Which became blood tests. Which, would you look at that, showed liver damage. 

When the nurse reported the test to him, looking very concerned, he’d replied, “Oh, so it’s gonna be the liver that gets me?” 

She didn’t have much of a sense of humor. There were follow-up tests that found the massive (and yes, illegal) concentration of suppressants he’d been downing like candy for the past few years. Which led him here. 

Stuck in this hospital bed, a guard outside his door, his nurse glancing in occasionally with thin lips. Fuck. 

“Compassionate care,” Steve heard outside his door, and scowled. He shoulda turned his hearing aids off. 

“Don’t need it!” Steve called out. This was fucking embarrassing. Compassionate care was for omegas who’d had a bond unexpectedly and traumatically severed, or older omegas with heat complications. He was 24, for christ’s sake. He wasn’t even at the point where his friends started to aggressively play matchmaker. 

The nurse stuck her head in his room. “You have to be under observation, at least,” she rebutted. 

Normally, Steve was far politer. He’d even been called charming. But this particular topic never failed to make him a bit… snappy. 

“Watch me here, then,” he retorted, and she frowned. 

“I don’t think you understand how much these drugs have messed up your body, kiddo.”

He shrugged, because she was right. Technically. He just didn’t _care_. 

She sighed, as if she could hear him think, and ducked out to talk to another nurse. 

“Not a kid,” he said to the room, "just short." The nurse wasn’t bad. She was just a little too caring. Most would’ve gave him the steroids and sent him on his way with a big bill. For his insurance, which he had since working in the bakery, thank god. Particularly since it sounded like they were sending him-

“They ask who you’d put him with,” the other nurse said, ear to a phone on the wall. 

“Why are they asking me?” his nurse laughs. 

“He says you’ve been sending them people longer than he’s been working there,” the other nurse smiles. 

“Hmm,” his nurse says, her eyes meeting Steve’s. “Is James still there? Yeah?” She raises an eyebrow at Steve, and he has the strong urge to make a face. “Definitely James. Tell them I said it’s an emergency.”

“Don’t need it,” Steve mutters to the room. 

*

A full day later, when Steve’s missed three doses in addition to the one he’d forgotten, they’re finally ready to take him out of the hospital. He steps into the bright, cheery day, and wants to cry. 

There are knives in his eyes. Why can’t his liver kill him already. 

When he opens his eyes again, there’s a man leaning against a dark car, waiting for Steve to go through the open door. 

“Who’re you,” Steve says, planting his feet. The guy is, well, he’s at least twice the size of Steve. Not that that’s particularly hard. 

“Not a cop,” the guy says, which is a fairly good guess at Steve’s mental state. He flashes the embroidered insignia on his jacket- CC. 

“Ok,” Steve says, suddenly running out of sass. He’s too incapacitated to think about running anywhere, even if his body is screaming for him to find more suppressants. He’s just fucking scared, now. He really thinks he’d rather die than have to deal with this. 

If he doesn’t get in, this dude’s just going to lift him and stuff him in. He steps into the backseat and lets out a relieved sigh. The windows are tinted. 

Big, Strong, and Silent gets into the front seat. “My name’s Happy,” he says brusquely, and hands Steve a big, fluffy blanket. 

*

The Compassionate Care facility is outside of the city, and has a nice little garden with an accessible path. The logo on the side of the building makes Steve snort loudly. It's. Wow. 

“What?” Happy asks, taking a chip from the bag he sandwiched between the front seats. 

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” Steve says, pointing out the bright pink plastic cupped hands, about ten feet tall. He takes a handful of chips. 

“That’s what Tony said,” Happy replies. “Tony Stark. I drove him here.” 

Happy’s mentioned it. He tried for subtle, then less subtle when Steve didn’t comment on it. Yeah, Steve knows who Tony Stark is. He’s pretty much the most famous omega on the planet, maybe the most famous person. Everyone knows he detoxed here. This place has a pretty good reputation. It doesn’t make Steve feel any better. 

“It’s been real, it’s been fun,” Steve starts. 

“I shared my chips with you,” Happy replies, deadpan. He rolls to a stop, clicks the door locks open. 

Steve blacks out as soon as he stands, but he’s prepared for it, leaning against the car. 

They ferry him off to a room that smells like it’s been scrubbed with bleach. And lavender. The walls are a soft blue, the bed is in off in the corner, piled high with blankets and topped with a half canopy. Like a nest. There is a rocking chair in this room. He can’t fucking deal with this. He sits on the bed, feeling the waterproof protector beneath the sheets when he plucks at them. 

Not too long after, there’s a knock on the door, and Steve bristles. He can smell _alpha_ through the door. 

“Yeah?” he says, going for nonchalant, and the door opens. 

The alpha is of average build, a white guy with just enough thick, dark hair to pull into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a soft looking red Henley and a pair of dark jeans. 

“Thought you’d be older,” Steve comments. 

The alpha looks him up and down. “Thought you’d be sicker.” Then he crosses the room, and goes to pull the shades. Instant, blessed darkness. A soft lamp flickers on. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Steve comments. 

“Ok,” the alpha says blandly, putting a clipboard down on the side table. “Here.” He hands Steve a couple pills. 

“Aw,” Steve says, “you aren’t gonna need the roofies.” 

“Painkiller,” the alpha points, “vitamins.” 

“Sure,” Steve says, but knocks them back dry. If one of these things is a painkiller, he doesn’t care about much else right now. 

The alpha hands him a glass of water, and sits in a chair next to the bed. “My name’s Bucky. If you’d like to have someone else, let me know. There’s a button,” he points to the side of the bed, “if you need anything, but I’ll be checking on you pretty often. If you yell for help, you’ll trigger an alarm, even if I'm in the room." He pauses on that, making sure Steve understands. "Do you have any questions?” 

Yeah, only a couple dozen. "Bucky isn't a name for a person,” Steve says. "Maybe a hamster." 

Bucky flashes his name tag. "I'm the prettiest gerbil ever," he deadpans, then leaves the room, shutting off the lights. 

By nighttime, Steve’s covered in a cold sweat, shaking with muscle cramps. He’s wrapped around a pillow, smothered in a pile of blankets for the warmth. Not for how soothing it feels to have the weight holding him down. 

Bucky peels back the layers, and Steve makes a protesting noise. 

“It ok if I take your temperature?” Bucky asks, and Steve opens his mouth to let him pop the thermometer in. 

“Hm,” Bucky says, and hands a few more pills down into the nest. “Breakthrough pain?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says hoarsely, and gulps down the water he’s offered. 

“Slower,” Bucky instructs, but his tone is gentle. “Don’t want to throw it back up.” 

Steve’s hand is shaking when he passes back the water glass. He doesn’t want to be here, not like this. He wants to go home. He wants his mom back from the grave, even though it’s been five years, now. 

“What are you gonna do with me?” Steve asks. 

“Monitor you,” Bucky replies easily. “Make sure you don’t die.”

Steve chooses to ignore that. “What about the fucking?”

“If you ask real nice,” Bucky says automatically. “If not, then. Monitor you. How’s your pain?”

“Eight,” Steve says honestly. He’s used to living with pain, clenching his jaw to keep himself from complaining. “Got any more pain meds?”

“We just maxed you out,” Bucky says, apologetic. “You got a headache?”

“Migraine,” Steve confirms. 

“Pelvic pain?”

“Not really,” Steve feels his brows coming together. “Weirdest heat I’ve ever had.” 

Bucky grimaces. “Oh, you’re not in heat yet. You’ve still got the drugs in your system. You’re just starting to withdraw from them.”

“And I’m dependent,” Steve finishes for him. “Got muscle cramps everywhere else, though,” he adds, shifting the conversation away from that particular topic. 

“Want a bath?” Bucky asks, and Steve stares at him. “Warm water and salts help with the muscle cramps.” 

“…Yeah,” Steve says finally. He could be miserable shivering in a damp pile of bedding, or miserable in a hot bath.

“Good choice,” Bucky says conspirationally, giving him an arm that Steve can’t help but take when he starts to pass out. “We have bubbles.” 

Bucky lets Steve sit on the toilet seat while he fills up the bath and dumps in some soap, playing with the bubbles. He doesn’t turn toward Steve when he strips and sinks into the tub with a moan. 

Bucky shuts off the tap. “Told you,” he says. “Good for muscle cramps.” 

Steve props his head on a thoughtfully placed cushion on the lip of the tub and lays there for a moment. He cracks an eye open. “Why’re you being so nice?”

Bucky hops onto the toilet seat. “D’you want me to be mean?”

“I fucked up my own body,” Steve says, which should be explanation enough. 

“We’ve found,” Bucky says, leaning back, “it doesn’t help much to punish people. They tend to go right back to what they were doing, once they're out. Doesn’t fix the problem.” 

“You gonna ask me why I was taking the suppressants?” 

“Nope,” Bucky says easily, then leaves the room. When he comes back, he’s dragging the rocking chair. 

Steve snorts. 

“What? It’s soothing,” Bucky replies, making it sway back and forth with a smile. Steve hasn’t touched his pencils for a while. He wants to capture his hooded eyes, bring them to life on a page. He never thought he’d be able to go a day without creating. 

“You coulda stayed in the room.”

“’S my job to make sure you don’t drown,” Bucky counters. Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Why do you work here?” Steve asks. “You seem like you could do… anything else.”

“Everyone who works here had to be treated here first,” Bucky replies laconically. “I came back. Thought I could do something to make things better for people.” 

“Bullshit,” Steve laughs. “Tell you what- if you tell me how you got here, I’ll tell you how I did.” 

Bucky holds out a pinky, and Steve loops it with his. “Alright, deal.” Bucky squeezes, then lets go. “But you’re gonna have to tell me something now, ‘cause I wasn’t lying.” 

“I started them after my ma passed away,” Steve says, dropping his hand back under the water, “but that wasn’t why.” The water is really, really warm. He lets his neck fall onto the support pillow, and closes his eyes. 

He realizes he’s fallen asleep when Bucky drains the water and gently starts to dry him off. His head is fuzzy from the painkillers, but he still snaps right back into consciousness and grabs the towel. 

“I’ll do it,” he says stiffly, and his hands tremble violently as he dries himself. Still, Bucky doesn’t try to stop him, just lets Steve lean on him to bring him back to the bed. Steve feels warm enough now, but there’s another kind of pain creeping into his awareness that he wants to hide from. 

The suppressants let him make parts of his body blank, like they weren’t there. Now, they’re roaring back online, demanding attention, and he doesn’t want it. He lets Bucky change the sheets and tuck him under the blankets, and digs his fingernails into his wrists, scratching over and over until he can’t feel anything else, until he can fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your comments! *smiles at them, hums*

He wakes up engulfed in pain. For a few long moments, there’s nothing but the pain, his insides cramping so sharp he can’t think of anything else. He throws up groggily into the bucket shoved under his chin. By the time he comes back to himself, he’s sobbing, and Bucky is trying to coax him to take some more meds. 

Steve swallows them down quickly, but they aren’t keeping him from losing his mind _right now_. He curls his knees to his chest, rocks in place where he’s sitting. Bucky’s holding his hand. 

“I know,” Bucky says gently, “I’m sorry, it’ll be over soon.” 

“Fuck you,” Steve gasps out, but doesn’t pull his hand away. “Just give me the suppressants,” and his voice is wobbly, and he hates himself for it, “please, I want them back.” 

“Those things’ll kill you,” Bucky says steadily, still compassionate. Steve hates it. He wants to make him angry, he wants to get it over with, he hates waiting for him to snap-

“I know,” he says, honest, “I don’t _care_.” He grips a hand in his hair and tugs, hard, enjoying the sharp pain. 

“I do,” Bucky says, running his thumb over Steve’s knuckles where he’s tugging. “I’m sorry. I know how much it hurts. It’ll be better soon.” 

“You don’t,” Steve sobs, “you don’t understand, you’re a fucking alpha.” Bucky’s thumb running over his fingers makes him relax his grip, let his hand fall away from his hair. 

“I do,” Bucky says again, and lets Steve fall against his chest, getting his sweat and tears all over the soft cotton of his shirt. Steve lets him cradle him there and murmur that he’s going to be okay until he relaxes enough to fall asleep again. He hates himself for needing it. 

*

Steve’s on the couch in their apartment, surrounded by boxes. The couch is the only thing left; it’s hollow in here, echoing. It used to be warm, a little overcrowded. Old crayon drawings still on the fridge because his ma wouldn’t take them down. He’s thrown those out, now. He can’t afford to live here anymore; he can’t afford to keep much. 

The boxes have to go downstairs, but he can’t seem to make himself stand. The door is open, the truck is waiting. He has to do it alone. All of his friends, the ones he has left anyway, are gone for the summer, getting ready to start college. He used to have a decent number of friends for a sick teenager who kept not being able to make it to parties because he had to sleep instead. Then his ma had passed away, and he had trouble getting his homework done, and eating, and sleeping, and smiling. He understood why most people hadn’t stuck around. He wasn’t much fun to be around. 

He looks at the boxes on the floor and doesn’t know how to do it. He’d had a lot of struggles before, but it had been him and ma against the world, they were a team. As long as they were together, they were ok. He doesn’t know how to do this alone. He’s weak. He doesn’t know where all the fight in him went, can’t care enough to reach in deep and pull it up. For what. 

“Hey,” someone says in the doorway, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Hey,” Steve wipes hastily at his eyes. It’s just Brock; he’s been their neighbor since Steve was 12. He’s always been nice to Steve. 

“You need help with these?” Brock points to the boxes. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Steve smiles. “I can get it.”

“No, no buddy, let me help,” Brock picks up two boxes with barely any effort, starts hoisting them down the stairs. Steve follows him with the last box, and loads it into the truck.

“How long you got this for?” Brock asks, and Steve shrugs. 

“I’m borrowing it from a friend. I got the day.” Steve goes back up the stairs, and Brock follows him back into the apartment, shuts the door behind himself, and sits on the couch next to Steve. Steve looks over, puzzled. 

“You taking the couch?”

“Oh,” Steve says, understanding. “Nah, nowhere to put it.” He doesn’t move, and neither does Brock. 

“A lot of memories here, huh?” Brock says, and Steve feels the hole in his chest widen. He thinks it might swallow him whole. 

“Yeah,” Steve manages, and Brock looks over. 

“Hey,” Brock says gently, and wipes his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone, brushing away the tear. “C’mere.” He hugs Steve to his chest, and Steve collapses, just like that. He doesn’t have any family left. Some of his friends and their parents came to the funeral, and his mom’s friends helped him cover the cost, but they’ve gone back to their lives now, and this is what he’s left with. An empty room, and a dead mother. He’s supposed to move on from this, go to college, start his life. It feels like he’s skipped to the end. 

“Yeah, there you go, kid,” Brock says when Steve’s sobbing finally slows, wiping Steve’s eyes with his shirt. Steve feels a little lighter, at least. 

“I’m not a kid,” Steve says, because it seems ridiculous. He’s turning 18 in a month. 

“No, you’re not, are you?” Brock says, and his eye contact is so direct and steady that Steve shivers, feels something in his back brain unspooling. 

“Yeah?” Brock chuckles, and leans forward, cupping Steve’s chin, and pressing his tongue into his mouth. Steve freezes, shocked, but Brock keeps going, runs his hand up Steve’s inner thigh to cup his crotch. 

“Brock,” Steve gasps, “I don’t-“

“Shh,” Brock says, low, and Steve’s dick twitches under Brock’s hand. “I’ll make it better. Promise.” Then Brock pops the fly on Steve’s jeans, and Steve needs it, he fucking needs it more than anything he can remember. 

When Brock fucks him on the couch while Steve moans for it, begs to have that empty space filled, he wonders what his mom would think about Brock taking his virginity on the couch. But that doesn’t matter. She’s dead. 

*

When Steve wakes up, he’s cradled against Bucky’s chest. He revels in the warmth for a few minutes, listening to his heart beat. It’s been years since he was held like this. At least with Brock, he’d gotten this, sometimes. And that's the thing- if Brock had been cruel all the time, it would've been easy. It wasn't. He wasn't.

Steve stiffens at the thought, and Bucky feels him tense up. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, his eyes a wide and brilliant grey-blue this close, and Steve looks away. He’s drowning in shame. He can’t believe he lost control like that.

“How’re you feeling?” Bucky asks gently. 

Steve shuffles out of Bucky’s arms, and Bucky lets him go immediately. “Better,” Steve croaks. There’s still some cramping, and it’s painful, but it doesn’t feel like his body is on fire. 

“Good,” Bucky replies, and sits up, helping Steve prop his body against the headboard. He hates being this weak. He wants his suppressants. 

Bucky tilts a glass of water to his lips, and Steve drinks the entire thing. 

“Hungry?” Bucky asks, and Steve nods. 

“We got… toast, and, um, fruit?” Bucky demonstrates on the side table, and Steve hadn’t even noticed that he’d left to get it. How long has he been out of it? 

“Wow,” Steve drawls, and Bucky smiles. 

“You’ll throw up anything else,” he says cheerily, and butters the toast. He holds it out for Steve to eat, like he’s fucking handfeeding, and Steve snatches it from him. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, hand trembling violently as he tries to keep the toast steady enough to take a bite. 

Bucky just hands him the next slice, and doesn’t comment on it. 

“So, this was fun,” Steve says, brushing crumbs off his lips. “When do I get out?” 

“When your heat’s over,” Bucky says, holding up another piece of fruit. 

“When my heat’s over,” Steve says slowly, feeling horror creep up on him. It hasn’t even started yet. The drugs have just left his system. “How long have I been here?” 

“Four days,” Bucky says steadily. 

“Oh my god,” Steve stutters, trying to stand. “I can’t just leave work for four days and not lose my job!” 

Bucky doesn’t try to force him to sit down, but he does catch Steve when he blacks out, ears ringing. “You won’t lose your job. Your boss actually called to check on you.” 

Steve sits on the bed. “But-“

“And, in any case,” Bucky says steadily, “it’s a small price to pay for your life.” 

His life. That’s what this is. He fucked up so bad that his body is actually trying to kill him. Bucky is monitoring him 24/7 because he _could have died_. It was easier when he was just sort of letting it happen, assuming he’d keel over one day or he wouldn’t. This is different. He doesn’t know if he wants this. 

“Steve,” Bucky says firmly, bringing him back. Steve’s attention snaps to his tone, and Bucky backs off, makes his body language loose again. “It’s ok. You’re going to be fine.”

“What’s going to happen now?” Steve asks in a small voice. Bucky lays his palm open, and Steve lets him take his hand. 

“You’re going to go through your heat,” Bucky says, voice almost hypnotic. “It’s going to be a lot more intense than you remember, because your body’s going to try to compensate. It’ll last about a week.”

 _A week_ , Steve thinks, and wonders if they’ve had anyone die of dehydration. 

“I hope you have a lot of Gatorade,” Steve replies, dazed. 

“We have an entire fridge of Gatorade,” Bucky says in a stage whisper, smiling. 

“Are you going to be the one who fucks me?” Steve asks, going for casual and failing. He can’t look at him. He doesn’t think he would mind, though, if it were Bucky. 

“If you want me to,” Bucky says seriously. “Or I’ll leave you a bucket of dildos and keep an eye on you.” 

“How voyeuristic,” Steve comments. 

Bucky shrugs. “You could literally have a heart attack. You already have a history of arrhythmias.” 

“How long did it take you to go through my medical file?” Steve asks, curious. 

“A while,” Bucky admits. 

“How fucked am I?” 

“Mm, pretty fucked.” Bucky says with a straight face. “There’s no hope for you.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ve seen worse, believe it or not. You’re bad off, but you’ll be ok. This time.” 

Steve wonders how many people he’s helped, only to see them come back in, destroying themselves no matter what he does. 

“I’ll try,” Steve says suddenly. “I’ll try to not, come back.” 

“Ok,” Bucky says. “How’s your head?”

“Fine, actually,” Steve says, surprised. He doesn’t know if it’s the painkillers, but it feels better than it usually does. 

“Wanna go outside? It’s nice out. I got cards.” 

*

Steve can’t believe people still play cards. Or that it was actually fun. He’d asked where the computers were, and Bucky just shrugged and said it was bad for his head. 

“How long before you think the heat sets in?” Steve asks, pulling himself from the wheelchair onto the bed. 

“Mm,” Bucky looks him up and down. “I give you six hours, tops.” 

“Thanks,” Steve snorts. “How long’ve you been working here?” 

“Four years,” Bucky replies easily. 

Steve can feel his brow furrow. “How old’re you?”

“25.” 

“How long had you been out of here when you came back?”

“I know what question you’re asking,” Bucky answers, eyes quick. “So I’m gonna ask you the same thing. When’d he first make you think he was taking care of you?” 

“17,” Steve answers, just a little more than a whisper. 

“Three years,” Bucky answers. “Started working here when I was 21.” He pauses. “But by the time I got here… I shoulda been here a long time before that. I was near feral.” 

“They have kids here?” Steve asks, horrified. He didn’t trust what this place said it was, but he’d thought they weren’t allowed to be that morally bankrupt. 

“Not like you’re thinkin’,” Bucky says quickly, “no. Different facility, different ways of dealin’ with things.” 

“Oh,” Steve says, and keeps his thoughts to himself. “Would you really just give me a bucket of plastic dicks?”

“Absolutely,” Bucky says steadily. 

“But I won’t want them,” Steve tries to counter, questioning. 

“Maybe,” Bucky allows. 

“What if, I don’t want, to want it,” Steve asks, and Bucky looks at him for a long moment. 

“We have that conversation more than you might think,” Bucky finally answers. “It comes up in every meeting. At this point, the consensus is that it’s as good as torture to ignore an omega for their own good when they ask for help.” 

Steve looks away sharply, feels his breathing kicking up. 

“Sorry,” Bucky says, “I don’t mean- some people choose the plastic, you know. They can still choose, even if it can be, painful. I’m sorry. I wish I had a better answer.” 

“No, it’s not- have you ever been tied up, and, left?” Steve asks suddenly. 

“Yes,” Bucky answers. 

“My alpha- he tied me up during a heat once. He blindfolded me, and,” _left a vibrator in me_ , “tied my hands together. And left me all day, while he was at work. Because I needed to be taught a lesson.” 

“You didn’t,” Bucky says steadily. “Whatever it was, you didn’t deserve it.” 

Steve looks away. “I know,” he says, trying to believe it. 

*

The heat comes on slowly, then all at once. Steve’s tossing and turning, wriggling and clutching pillows, trying to get away from the aching cramps. He’s so wet he peeled off his boxers and decided to wiggle his naked body over the nice, soft sheets. 

After a few hours of this, Bucky looks up from his book in the rocking chair. He’s reading a shitty science fiction paperback with a slime monster on the front. It looks like it’s from the 40’s. He can’t believe this guy is real. There’s an omega in heat literally squirming on a bed three feet away, and he’s 200 pages in. 

“Need anything?” Bucky asks, and Steve wants to thwap him with the pillow he’s currently trying to suffocate under. 

“Can you just, hold down this pillow for a few minutes,” Steve starts, and Bucky shakes his head. 

“Nope,” Bucky says, going back to his book. He shifts his legs, and Steve tries to see if he can spot his dick through his pajama pants. No such luck. 

Steve whines loudly, and rolls over to face Bucky. Bucky looks up at him, worries his lip. Maybe he isn’t made of stone. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. His lips look so soft. How are they that color without lipstick? And his hair is so _glossy_.

“You must condition,” Steve pants. 

“I also moisturize every day,” Bucky singsongs, going back to reading. Steve’s been saying stupid shit like this all night long, it’s no wonder. 

“Can you finger me?” Steve asks, and Bucky freezes. He puts the book down without dog-earing a page. 

“Really?” Bucky asks, and Steve nods. 

“Yes,” Steve says hoarsely. “I’m tired. I want to come and go to sleep, and my hands hurt. And I don’t think you’re going to lose your shit.”

“I won’t,” Bucky confirms. 

“Um,” Steve says while Bucky silently looks him over. 

“I’m going to say my ground rules, then you can say yours," Bucky says suddenly. "That good?” 

“Sure,” Steve says, a little surprised. 

“I only have one big rule, and I’m serious about it,” Bucky says. “If you break it, I’ll be fine, but I’ll leave and let you try again with someone else. Two strikes, and we’re gonna have to leave you with the box of dildos.” 

Steve sits up, nods. 

“You can’t take your anger out on me,” Bucky says calmly. “It’s ok to get angry. It’s ok to shove at me, or whatever. But if you try to take out whatever you’re feeling by hurting me, physically or emotionally, I’m not gonna let you do it. It’s not ok to abuse someone else ‘cause you’re hurting.” 

Steve can feel Bucky’s words like stones dropping to the bottom of a lake, resonating somewhere deep. “I won’t.”

“It’s ok to say something stupid and mean once or twice,” Bucky amends, “as long as you apologize, and you don’t do it again. Just don’t keep doing it.” 

Steve nods. “Got it.” 

“Great,” Bucky smiles. “I like fingering. I like going down on people, kissing, fucking, cuddling, hair petting. I even like being fucked, if you’re nice about it. I’m open to stuff if you ask, but I might turn you down if I’m not feeling it. What do you like?”

“Wow,” Steve says. “Can I get back to you on that?”

Bucky laughs. “Sure. Anything you don’t like?” 

Steve is tongue-tied for a minute. “I don’t like being… restrained,” he says finally. “Or humiliated. I don’t like to be pissed on. Mind games.”

Bucky shakes his head, hides his expression. For a brief moment, Steve thought he looked pissed- but then it was gone. “Yeah, we’re not doing that. That’s next level consent, even if you wanted it.” Bucky walks over and sits up against the headboard.

Steve just watches him. Bucky snuggles down into the sheets, all of his pajamas still on. 

“What do you want?” Bucky asks, low, and runs his fingers down Steve’s arm. 

Steve doesn’t answer. Instead, he presses up against Bucky, leans in to kiss him. Bucky follows for a moment, then gently starts to lead. He’s as incredible a kisser as he looks, and Steve sighs, enjoying it when Bucky places a warm hand on Steve’s lower back. 

“Why d’you still have a shirt on?” Steve plucks at it, and Bucky laughs. 

“Not yet,” Bucky stops him. “I’ll explain later.” 

“Alright,” Steve grumbles. Bucky’s hand trails on the outside of his thigh, and Steve moans. He’s missed sex so goddamn much. He can’t remember right now why he was avoiding it as hard as he did. He hasn’t been touched like this for years. 

“You’re hurting, huh?” Bucky says, and his voice is so goddamn sexy all the sudden. 

“You gonna make it better?” Steve asks, autopilot. 

“You want me to?” Bucky asks, eyes hooded and serious. 

They’re the same words, almost, but they’re different. Everything about them is different. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, pressing up against him, and he means it. He’s aching; he just wants to come. 

Bucky keeps kissing him, runs his fingers down his hips, trailing between his legs, till Steve squirms impatiently. 

The first finger slides in easily, nice and slick, and Steve thinks his eyes are going to roll into the back of his head. 

“Oh god,” Steve moans, and he can feel Bucky smile where he’s kissing his neck. 

“Nope,” Bucky says, “Just me.” 

“Huh?” Steve says, distracted by the crooked finger currently making his legs tremble. “Did you- that’s awful,” he laughs, is still laughing when Bucky slips a second finger in to stretch him. Steve moans in relief, the cramping, aching muscles finally starting to release. 

“There you go,” Bucky says, smiling, “you like that?”

“Yeah,” Steve admits, brows scrunching. Bucky’s fingers glide in and out seamlessly, occasionally pumping into him, Bucky’s thumb rubbing at the base of his dick. “Can you, faster,” Steve manages, and Bucky complies. 

Bucky’s barely started finger fucking him before Steve gasps, loud and shocked, and comes, clenching down hard on his fingers. 

“Oh, thank god,” Steve moans when he’s coming down, feeling the muscles go lax. He kisses Bucky’s collarbone twice, and freezes. Bucky pulls his fingers out. 

“Sorry,” Steve says quickly. 

“For what?” Bucky asks, curious. 

“I was being stupid. It was just an omega thing, I mean, you’ve probably-“ Steve babbles, and Bucky cuts him off, one eyebrow raised.

“Are you talking about the kiss thing you just did? ‘Cause that’s all I remember you doing.” Steve doesn’t say anything, and Bucky leans forward, gives him a peck on the cheek, then the forehead. “Like this?” he asks, and nuzzles his temple, completely stupid. 

Steve laughs. “Yeah, yeah.” Bucky tickles him, and Steve yelps, laughs again. 

“Who told you that basic human affection was an omega thing?” Bucky asks idly, and Steve thinks he rattles off the words so easily that he’s probably said them before. 

“Brock,” Steve says his name out loud, and feels like there’s a ghost of him in the room with them. He moves closer to Bucky. 

Bucky tucks him in against his side. “And everything he did was just an alpha thing you wouldn’t understand ‘cause you’re an omega, right?” 

Oh. 

“Ok. I’m gonna put my two cents forward, here. You ready?” Bucky leans back so Steve can see his face. “I’m pretty sure this guy was trying to convince you that _alpha_ was interchangeable with _sociopath_. We have a fancy word for that. Gaslighting.” 

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Steve says, thinking.

“It just didn’t apply to you?” 

“Guess it did,” Steve says. 

Steve had thought about leaving, sometimes. He’d get pissed at Brock, try to fight to keep his feet. Brock would just laugh and crowd him against the counter, bite his neck, fuck him till he screamed in pleasure. Remind Steve how much he needed him, needed an alpha. It was just biology. Brock loved his heats. Steve hated them. 

After Brock kicked him to the curb and got a new shiny omega toy to fuck (and maybe that’s what Steve is ashamed of most of all- after a lifetime of being a fighter, he never made himself leave), Steve didn’t have any desire for touch left. Wanting it was his fault; if he wanted it, then he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t know how else to say no, or wait, unless an alpha smiled at him and he told them to fuck off. By the time Brock left him, he wasn’t even sure who he was, anymore. 

The suppressants had fixed that. The suppressants stopped his heats. More of them killed desire cold. He was free. He could say no.


	3. Chapter 3

His body feels fucking incredible. He’s not even fully conscious yet, and he feels warm, completely relaxed, guard down. He’s turned on, yeah, but it’s a pleasant sort of wanting that makes him luxuriously stretch his toes down towards the edge of the bed. Steve hums, pleased, and opens his eyes. 

Bucky’s face is only inches from his, mouth slightly parted. He’s snoring softly, and his hair is half out of his ponytail, rumpled and frizzy. It’s- kind of adorable. 

Unfortunately, Steve is awake because he really needs to pee. 

“Hey,” Steve says, poking Bucky’s shoulder gently. 

“Hmm?” Bucky says, still asleep, and cuddles closer, snuffling into Steve’s shoulder. 

It’s nice, it’s even endearing, except he’s pressing his hard-on to Steve’s belly- which, of course he is, he’s been sleeping next to an omega in heat-

But none of Steve’s logic matters here, because he can feel himself

Draining. Going, going, gone. He tries to cup the water, keep it from going down, but it’s water. It keeps flowing. It’s the rusted metal slats in Brock’s shower, swallowing him somewhere dark and far away. 

The world moves slow like syrup, and Steve can feel himself moving automatically into presenting. Old conditioning. 

He becomes aware that Bucky’s awake, but he doesn’t want to pay attention to this part. 

“…down,” he hears eventually, and he goes. 

“That’s good, there you go. You’re safe. You’re going to be fine.”

Steve has something in his hands. Is that… a stuffed animal? It is. It’s an otter. He stares at it for a second. 

“Huh?” Steve comments, and notices that he has his hand in front of his mouth, knuckles wet like he’s had his lips on them. His vision is obscured by his knees, which he’s peering over. He doesn’t think he wants to move them just yet. 

Bucky’s in the rocking chair next to the bed, body language relaxed, though his eyes are a little pinched. 

“Hey Stevie. You back?”

Steve flinches at the nickname. He hasn’t been called that for, gosh, a decade probably. He thinks he has a pretty good idea of what just happened. He moves his knees away from his face, sits up, and gently tosses the otter underhand to Bucky. 

“I need to pee,” Steve says, and walks to the bathroom completely nude. Bucky is still in his pajamas. 

After about ten minutes, Steve opens the bathroom door to a knock. Bucky hands him a pair of boxers and a blanket; he already has one wrapped over his own shoulders. 

Steve snatches them, dresses, and wears the blanket like a hooded cape. 

“Do you remember what just happened?” Bucky asks gently. 

“Yes,” Steve says stiffly, embarrassed. 

“Ok,” Bucky says easily. “One more question- has it happened before?” 

“Yes,” Steve says. Bucky waits, and Steve blows out a breath. Fine. “When Brock wanted sex. Happy?”

“No,” Bucky says, then pauses. “That’s the driver. I’m Bucky.” 

Steve blinks at him. “Oh my god.” He wheezes a little. “Did you.” He starts laughing, shakes a little. There’s still a weird chemical soup floating through his veins. 

Bucky points to the side table, where a little white inhaler is sitting. Steve takes a puff, and the giggling tapers off. 

“What did Brock do, when you dissociated?” Bucky asks, and Steve feels steady enough to answer. 

“He liked it,” Steve replies. “Tried to make it happen. Said I was too tense, otherwise.” Steve tilts his head. “Not sure if he picked up on the regression thing. I used to think he had no clue, but,” Steve shrugs. “I don’t know anymore.” 

“That’s horrifying,” Bucky says lightly. 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says idly. “You must think I was an idiot,” he starts.

“No, I don’t,” Bucky shakes his head, firm. 

“People think that, a lot,” Steve continues. “I know they do. But they weren’t there, were they? Brock was.” 

Bucky’s expression turns serious, empathetic. “Yeah,” he agrees. 

Steve looks at him for a moment. “Your hair is a mess,” he comments. 

Bucky snorts, pulls the elastic out of his hair, shakes it like a wet dog. Then he smoothes it down and pops the elastic back in. “Acceptable?” he asks archly. 

Steve smiles, nods. “I shared,” he replies. “Your turn.” 

Bucky leans forward, hands on his knees. “What do you want to know?” 

Steve knows the answer to that one immediately. “Why won’t you take your shirt off?”

“Hmmm,” Bucky says, peering at Steve’s nude torso under the blanket. “Fair’s fair, I suppose.” He stands, and strips his latest henley off in an easy over the head motion. 

Steve gapes for a moment, but probably not for the reason Bucky’s thinking. His brain will get to that, in a moment, it’s just- “Damn, son,” Steve says appreciatively. 

Bucky smiles, flexes. “Pilates,” he fills in, mock-casual. He traces the fingers of his right hand over the deep, discolored scarring covering his left arm. “Scald,” he says with a shrug. 

“You didn’t do that to yourself,” Steve asks hesitantly. 

“Nope,” Bucky confirms. “Thought I did, though, at the time.” 

“Who?”

“Foster mother,” Bucky replies. “Who was Brock?” 

“He was my neighbor,” Steve says. “He fucked me after my mom died. He was the only person who gave a shit about me, at the time. Or, I thought he did.” He pauses. “Foster mother?” 

“My parents died when I was 12,” Bucky answers. “Car crash. Cliché.” 

“Cancer,” Steve says, but the word catches in his throat. “My dad left after I was born. Are you doing this so I’ll tell you about shit?”

“Is it working?” 

“I scalded my finger at the coffee shop, once,” Steve says lifting his fully healed pointer finger so Bucky can see it. “I slept with my hand in a bucket of ice water for three days.” 

“I was bedridden for weeks. Couldn’t go outside for months, or I’d risk a bad infection.” 

“Do you have to have a tragic backstory to work here?” Steve asks; his tone isn’t cruel. 

“No,” Bucky says easily. “But you do have to be willing to share your own experiences. Otherwise, the power dynamic is fucked up. You’re asking for too much vulnerability from someone who’s used to it being used against them. You didn’t have any family to take you in, when she died?” 

Steve shakes his head. “You didn’t either?”

“None willing,” Bucky sighs. “My little sisters were adopted. I was the oldest. I went to foster care.”

“That’s horrible,” Steve frowns. 

“That’s life,” Bucky retorts. 

“Yeah, it is,” Steve agrees. “I thought he was the only person who knew what I was going through.” 

“I thought I was the only person who understood her,” Bucky follows. “She was always unhappy; I felt sorry for her. I thought, if I could be good enough, I could make her happy.” 

“I never got it right,” Steve said, dazed. “I kept wondering why he did what he did. I couldn’t see it coming. I wanted it to make sense. Weren’t there other kids in the foster home?”

“Yep,” Bucky nods. “They were omegas. And they were younger than me. She didn’t hurt them. Physically.” 

“How old were you, when,” Steve trails off looking at his arm, wondering if he can ask that question. 

“Sixteen,” Bucky says. “Shot up like a weed, starting at 14, then filled out. She didn’t like that. The problems with her started when I was 13, though. I was too ashamed to tell anyone. She was the adult. I believed what she told me.” 

“I think he was watching me,” Steve says quietly. “I think he was watching for a long time. And he was smart enough to know when he could get me.” 

“She said I was dirty, and made me go to church with her to repent, and be cleansed. I didn’t understand what she was talking about.”

“He said I was made to be fucked,” Steve says slowly, some understanding just out of his reach. “I needed him. I didn’t have any other friends.” 

“I told someone who I ate lunch with at school, that she kept coming into my room, and telling me how much alphas had let her down before. And I wanted to help. My mom told me the day before she died that she was proud of me, because I had a generous heart.” He paused. “The kid at lunch told me it wasn’t normal. It took a while, but I got angry with her. And she, just,” he opens his hands on his thighs, “it was like all that anger I’d been walking on eggshells trying to avoid, she lost it all at once.” 

“I told him I wasn’t his fucking property,” Steve said, dazed, “and he fucked me over the kitchen table with the windows open. I apologized, after.” 

“She was boiling water for coffee, and she grabbed the pot and dumped it on me. I turned away, but I didn’t move in time. It was too fast. I thought it was my fault, that I made her lose control. I told the paramedics that it was an accident. She didn’t have any previous record of physical abuse.” 

“I’m sure Brock did,” Steve says, and he blinks fast, because for all he went through with Brock, he could handle it. But. “I’m sure he did it again. And he’ll keep doing it. And I was so fucked up that I couldn’t save anyone.” 

“You can,” Bucky says gently. “You can save yourself.” 

Steve buries his head in his knees. “How’d you get here?”

Bucky leans back, rocking the chair. “I was really isolated while I healed. It took months. I used to, sort of,” he gestures a slicing motion, “split off who I was at school, and who I was at home. And then there was nowhere to escape to, and she got so much worse. She would threaten me, and I’d try to make her happy, I didn’t understand how I could make her so angry, or what I’d done wrong. I just wanted,” he trails off. “She told me weird shit about being a vessel for demons, like her church told me, that we all had them inside until we were cleansed. She said I was making her sin, because I couldn’t control myself.” He paused, but his voice was still steady. “Even my parents, you know, they were Catholic, and the church said masturbation and sex out of wedlock were serious sins. I didn’t want it, really, but that didn’t matter. I’d never heard of an omega abusing an alpha that way. Just jokes about how lucky the alpha was. Anyway. I got here because she hurt me again, and a social worker found out, and I was still underage, so I had to go to a different home.” 

“It didn’t work out,” Steve summarizes. 

Bucky flashed his teeth. “No, it sure didn’t. I was this feral little kid who freaked out when you touched him, and cried the rest of the time. I think I got to a place that wasn’t that house, and just,” 

“Fell apart,” Steve finishes. “Once you were somewhere else.” 

“Yes,” Bucky agreed. “They sent me to the Compassionate Care facility for kids.” 

“What was that like?” Steve asked, sitting cross-legged. 

“Mostly, a lot of therapy,” Bucky laughed. “Meditation and shit. I was lucky a place like that existed. I don’t know where I would’ve ended up without it.” 

“I pulled up my grades,” Steve says. “I finished school. I got a job. I was scared of being dependent on anyone. I scraped by.” 

“By yourself?” Bucky asks. 

“I don’t know how to do anything else,” Steve admits. 

“You are,” Bucky counters. “You ready to move on?” 

Steve looks at him, takes a chance. “I’m scared.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky offers. 

“I’ve seen Good Will Hunting,” Steve smiles. 

“Mm,” Bucky snorts. “Roll with me, for a minute.” 

Steve looks at the clock, and Bucky throws the otter at him. Steve decides to keep it. “I can’t believe you had this somewhere in the room,” he mutters. 

“It’s mine,” Bucky sighs. “I took it from my room. You didn’t see me leave. Don’t derail me, this is important.” 

“But I’m so good at it,” Steve counters, and watches a smile play over Bucky’s lips that he tries to fight down. 

“That’s good,” he replies. “Keep being a little shit. That must have been what made you so resistant to conditioning.” 

“I-“ Steve starts to argue. 

“Wait, wait, important,” Bucky stops him. “You’re afraid because you think someone will hurt you again, and you’ll blame yourself, and have to pick up the pieces by yourself all over again, and maybe you’re not sure if you can do that.” 

Steve shuts up. 

“But,” Bucky continues, “that’s because you still don’t get that Brock abusing you wasn’t your fault. That guy knew exactly how to play you, ‘cause he’s been practicin’ for a long time. He got you when you were being human and grieving because he’s a fucking sociopath who likes to fuck with people’s heads. He clearly did everything he could to control you, and at some point he must’ve gotten frustrated because you weren’t as easy to control as you looked. Yeah?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve says. Bucky’s been paying attention this whole time. 

“You’re still blaming yourself for what he did, and you’re ready to blame yourself again for having human needs. That’s what the suppressants were for- to cut that part of you out. But they weren’t going to save you, ‘cause you can’t cut that part of yourself out and be ok.” 

“I thought they weren’t gonna save me ‘cause they were literally killing me,” Steve shoots back sarcastically. 

“Punk,” Bucky replies fondly. “That’s it, though. It’s not your fault. It’s not your body’s fault. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Steve looks at him like he’s grown another head. “I’ve been passively suicidal for the past two years.” 

“You know what I mean,” Bucky amends. “Are you scared of being hurt again, or are you scared of it being your fault, and blaming yourself again?”

“Both?” Steve answers, eyebrows raised. 

“Let me give you a hypothetical,” Bucky shuffles his feet. “If you don’t want to have sex with me, and you want to get rid of me, what do you do?”

“Tell you to fuck off,” Steve says automatically. “Trigger the alarm. Stab you with the pen.” 

“That you put under the pillow, I know,” Bucky says easily. “I don’t think you have problems with absolute boundaries. I think you’re afraid of letting someone in, and looking back and realizing you made a mistake, and it being your fault. Or maybe, feeling guilty or afraid if you tell me no, ‘cause you want me to care about you, and I won’t care if I don’t get to fuck you. And maybe, because you think you’ll be proven right and no one really does care enough not to hurt you, and you don’t want to be right.” 

“Ok, that’s enough truth for now,” Steve says abruptly. 

“What about breakfast?” Bucky asks, immediately accepting. “I’m starving. And your heat’s about to get real.” 

“Great,” Steve drawls. 

*

“But I’m in heat,” Steve winces, standing in the doorway. Bucky tugs his hand insistently. 

“No one gives a shit. Alphas in rut are in another building. It’s nice outside.” Bucky pouts, and Steve’s fascinated by how effective that is with his, lips. They’re. Nice. 

“Ok,” Steve says, and lets Bucky lead him to the dining area, then ferry their trays outside. 

“Ooh, first flowers,” Bucky says excitedly, plopping the trays on the table. He grabs a dandelion puff and blows it in Steve’s direction. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve says, smiling. 

“You’re so serious,” Bucky mock-glowers, and leans forward to tickle him.

“Ah! Oh my god,” Steve giggles. “Stoppit!”

Bucky lifts his hands, palms out, smiling. 

Steve giggles. “Go.” 

Bucky and Steve manage to get to the point where they’re mock wrestling on the ground. Another pair sits at one of the picnic tables, the alpha rolling her eyes at Bucky, but smiling. 

Steve ends up on top on Bucky, panting, realizes _oh no, he’s hot_ all at once, and retreats very quickly. 

“Breakfast!” he says, and begins wolfing down whatever Bucky put on the plate. 

Bucky eats pretty quickly too, so there’s that. 

*

“Hey,” Bucky says, pupils dilated. Steve had stripped and jumped into Bucky’s lap on the bed as soon as he got into the room. Bucky is staying very very still. Steve wiggles. 

Bucky licks his lips. 

“I have a suggestion,” he starts, hands flexing in the air near Steve’s hips. “I give you a backrub, and we talk about what you want.”

“I have a suggestion,” Steve mimics, “you skip to the point and fuck me.” 

“That sounds nice,” Bucky ponders, “but I still like my idea better. Unless you think you can talk without the backrub.”

That sounds like an awful idea. He’s going to cry if Bucky stops touching him, and Bucky knows it. Steve lays down on his belly, legs slightly spread. “Backrub,” he says, smirking over his shoulder. 

“Brat,” Bucky says absently, leaning over to look through a drawer in the nightstand. He retrieves a bottle of oil, and rubs his hands together. 

Steve makes a pathetic little noise at the first push of Bucky’s thumbs on either side of his spine, feels his body go a little relaxed and dopey. Bucky tucks a blanket up under his butt to keep him warm. It’s nice. 

“Is this supposed to calm me down?” he asks. 

“Is it working?” 

“Absolutely,” Steve agrees. “What do we have to talk about?” 

“You said that Brock liked your heats, and you hated them,” Bucky prods, and Steve sighs. 

“How does that steel trap brain feel?” Steve drawls. 

“You’d be surprised,” Bucky counters. “You’re deflecting.” 

Steve huffs. “I was also afraid that no one would fuck me if I didn’t have Brock, and I’d lose my mind.” 

“High sex drive?” 

“Oh god, you have no idea,” Steve flexes his toes. “It’s so annoying.” 

Bucky laughs. “Why wouldn’t anyone fuck you if you didn’t have Brock?”

Steve looks over his shoulder at him flatly. “You know why.” 

“I really don’t,” Bucky answers easily. 

“I’m skinny, and not,” Steve flaps a hand, “toned and thin, or whatever. _Skinny_. Like, sick-looking, no matter what I eat. Maybe someone’s into me if they like twinks they can push around, but,” he huffs. 

“That sounds like something Brock said,” Bucky notes. 

“Mm nah, he didn’t have to,” Steve corrects. “I was already thinkin’ it.” 

“Yeah, I mean,” Bucky blows out a breath, “I’m sure no one tried, ever, except Brock.” 

“Well, of course they-“ Steve stops, caught. “Hey.” 

Bucky grins. “You hated your heats,” he prompts. 

“Well,” Steve amends, “I didn’t like them with Brock, or alone.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Steve huffs, and Bucky runs his thumb over a knot in Steve’s neck. Steve whimpers. Why didn’t he like them? “Alone hurts,” he answers easily, and feels Bucky’s fingers scratching through his hair leave a wave of tingling in their wake. “I wanted sex. I didn’t want it with Brock,” he says, a little surprised. 

“Why?”

“I thought it was ‘cause I was an omega, and I hated the way it felt to be so… Brock was an asshole.” 

“There you go.” 

“Brock was an asshole!” Steve repeats, flabbergasted. He sits up. “He was a sociopath.” 

“Maybe,” Bucky allows. “Didn’t seem to care if he hurt anyone. Cared a lot about getting what he needed at whatever cost.” 

“He was fucking awful to me,” Steve breathes. “I mean, he might have cared, but. Not enough to care he was hurting me.” 

“Boom,” Bucky says sagely. 

“Did you make me pee in a cup for drug tests, or STI tests,” Steve asks, curious. 

“STI’s,” Bucky shrugs. “Just in case.” 

“Good, great,” Steve wiggles. “I don’t have anything, right?”

“Nope. Also ran the blood at the hospital.”

“Sneaky,” Steve says, impressed. “Neither do you?” he asks hopefully. 

“STI’s? Nope,” Bucky confirms. 

“What do you do if someone has something?” Steve turns. Bucky lifts his hands, tugs the blanket up to his shoulders. 

“We talk about how we can give them what they need and keep both of us safe,” he says calmly. 

“Do you,” Steve thinks, “can we not, use a condom? Unless you want to? Oh, wait,” Steve shakes his head. “I’m not on suppressants. Forgot about pregnancy,” Steve smiles, lopsided. 

Bucky runs his fingers over Steve’s shoulder thoughtfully. “You’re right, it’ll probably end your heat faster. I don’t mind.” 

“Uh,” Steve interjects. 

“You won’t get pregnant.” Bucky winces. “Do you want kids?”

“I don’t think so?” Steve asks, but his tone says _what?_

“You might already be infertile,” Bucky says gently. “Did you know that?” 

Oh. Steve ducks his head. “Yes.” 

“In any case,” Bucky continues, squeezing Steve’s shoulder, “the chances right now are very low, with how messed up your cycle is. You’re going to have another heat in three weeks, so even if you do fertilize anything, it’ll be gone quick.” 

Wow. “But what if I do?” 

“If you did, theoretically, we would help you with whatever decision you made. If you wanted to keep the child, we would help you. If you wanted an abortion, I would go with you.” Bucky’s face is serious. Holy shit. 

“There’s something else,” Steve prompts. “You wouldn’t just take that risk, even if it was very low.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, looks away, then back. “I’m infertile.” 

Understanding dawns quickly- Steve knew this. Bucky did know what withdrawal was like, and not because he’d seen it before. “You took suppressants,” he realizes. 

Bucky nods. “Omega suppressants. From the care center. It wasn’t their fault,” he winces. “I was good at being careful, then. I changed their logs, even, so they wouldn’t notice. Watched them to figure out the passwords. Plus, you know, they’d never had an alpha kid take… by they time they’d figured out I wasn’t skipping ruts ‘cause of stress, I’d pretty much, uh. Chemically castrated myself.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Steve breathes. “Sorry.” 

“Me too,” Bucky allows. “It’s nothing new, though. And the endogenous hormones kicked back in, thank god.” 

“You had to be pretty smart, to get around their system,” Steve muses. 

Bucky actually blushes at that, which is fascinating. “Nahh,” he waves a hand, then lays down next to Steve. 

Steve takes the opportunity to roll on top of him. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, letting his hands rest on Steve’s waist. 

“Hey,” Steve replies, nuzzling at his neck. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky says, running a hand down his back. 

“Really?” Steve asks, looking at him. 

“None of this bothers me anymore,” Bucky replies honestly. “Seriously, a lot of therapy. Wasn’t kidding. I’ve been over this so many time ‘s like facts.”

“Hmm,” Steve says, and leans in to kiss him. 

Bucky makes a happy noise and moves into the kiss, shifts his hips as Steve rubs up against him, both of them getting interested. Steve really wants to see his dick, play with the loose skin of his knot, feel the velvety texture on his lips…

“Can I suck your dick?” Steve asks, and Bucky breathes in slowly through his nose, then rubs their noses together. 

“Not yet,” Bucky turns him down gently. “But only because if you do that right now I’m gonna lose it, and you’re probably gonna want to be fucked.” 

Steve shivers. “Good thought.”

Bucky plays with his fingers on Steve’s side. “We don’t have to do anything,” he reminds him. “We can cuddle. I can sit in that chair and read.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I get it. I know what I want. I don’t need the kid gloves.” 

“I’m not trying to be a patronizing dick,” Bucky says, letting his fingers run over Steve’s cheekbone. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”

Steve feels his expression soften at that. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” He squirms, because he’s really wet and it’s a little embarrassing, and he’s pretty sure Bucky can tell. “You don’t have to do anything with me either, you know.” 

Bucky frowns, leans in and kisses Steve. “I know. We really don’t, by the way. I choose the cases I take on, and I can choose not to have sex with anyone I don’t want to.” 

Steve feels relieved at that, but he was already pretty sure that was the case, and that’s not the issue here. “You’re very nice,” Steve says finally. 

Bucky’s frown goes deeper. “I’m not being _nice_ ,” he huffs, and leans up to really kiss Steve, the kind you give someone as a promise of a good fuck later. “You don’t see how gorgeous you are, do you?” he asks, and Steve looks away. 

“Don’t do that,” Steve says shortly. “I can’t.”

“You don’t believe it at all,” Bucky says, sad. “Can you believe I want you?”

“I’m in heat,” Steve says self-deprecatingly. “It’s your job, and I don’t have leprosy or anything.” 

“Baby,” Bucky says, sad. He kisses Steve’s neck, and Steve whines for it. “Tell me what you need, huh?”

“Please fuck me before I lose my mind,” Steve asks in the politest tone he can muster. “I’ve been thinking about giving up and searching for the dildos.” 

Bucky chuckles, and Steve shivers at the deep vibrations from his chest. “That’s part of the plan.” 

“What,” Steve says, and Bucky’s lovely warm body disappears. He whines plaintively. Not fair. 

Bucky’s back in a second, dragging a literal bucket of dildos from under the bed. 

“Oh. My God,” Steve cackles, and Bucky wiggles a pink glittery one at him. It wobbles ridiculously as Bucky waggles his eyebrows. Bucky shakes his head, drops it, and grabs a more modest dildo, then fishes out a packet of lubricant. 

Steve feels ridiculous, but he also feels his breathing pick up. That works. Anything right now works. 

Bucky cuddles back up to him, except this time he’s kissing his stomach, gently moving the blanket away. Steve feels overwarm anyway from the heat, and sighs when he feels the air on his skin. Bucky rubs his cheek on Steve’s hip bone, kisses there. He lets his fingers trail, watching Steve, until he’s playing with his half-hard dick. 

“You feeling good?” Bucky asks. 

“Yeah, what do you think?” Steve gasps. 

Bucky smiles. “Good,” he says idly, kisses down his shaft. “Can I suck you off?” Bucky asks, Steve feels his mind go blank. 

“Uh,” Steve replies intelligently. 

“No?” Bucky checks, and Steve tries to formulate a response. 

“You don’t have to,” Steve manages. “I mean. Yeah.” 

“Yes, I know,” Bucky says patiently. “Do you not want me to?” Bucky kisses Steve’s hip again, and Steve feels his dick twitch just looking at his lips. Bucky’s body is art, he swears to god, but he knows any medium that didn’t involve movement wouldn’t capture him. 

“Oh,” Steve says, staring at Bucky’s mouth. “Yes, please.”

“You’re so polite when you’re surprised,” Bucky notes. “I’ll remember that.” Then he wraps his lips around the head of Steve’s cock, soft and wet and tight, and Steve doesn’t remember feeling this good in his entire goddamn life. 

Steve moans, loud and shocked, and covers his mouth quickly with his hand. His thighs start trembling, and Bucky wraps his hands around them like he’s steadying him. His hands are so big, Jesus. 

“Please, please finger me,” Steve begs, and Bucky acquiesces easily, slipping one finger in to crook and pump against his walls. 

“Oh!” Steve says surprised. “I’m coming,” he warns him just in time, but Bucky just hums and sucks harder, swallows him down. He’s still holding onto his thighs again as he trembles hard, then strokes his palms down them as Steve is coming down. 

“Sorry,” Steve says when he catches his breath. “Didn’t expect that.” 

“’S ok, don’t worry, you got plenty in you before this is over,” Bucky smiles. 

Steve coughs. Coughs again. 

Bucky frowns. “That a heart palpitation?”

Damn him for being so perceptive. “It’s fine,” Steve says, insistent. “I get them all the time. Really. Going up stairs. _Standing_.” 

Bucky hums to himself. 

“Please fuck me now,” Steve rolls over onto his front, spreads his legs. “I’m so fucking ready. I’m fine, I’m good, I was ready yesterday.” 

Bucky chuckles, grips his ankle and runs his hand up to the crease of his legs. “You’re so pretty,” he sighs happily. “Lookit you.” He spreads Steve’s legs at the knees, and Steve whines softly. Then Bucky casually presses two fingers into his cunt, and yes, fuck, Steve gasps, he was starting to think he was going to have to beg for it the whole time. 

“Gentle, baby,” Bucky says smoothly, feeling Steve’s cunt clench up around his fingers. He scissors them, and it’s just as good as it was last night, that release of tight, aching muscles. Except he needs more, and Bucky’s fingers can’t reach. 

Just when Steve is about to open his mouth, Bucky pulls his fingers out, and Steve can feel the slick, cold length of the dildo pressing into him. 

Steve sighs, feels the pressure of the head opening him up, pressing in deep. He clenches around it, and it helps, it does- 

“If you don’t fuck me right now I might actually cry,” Steve pants, “and I’ll be really embarrassed.” 

Bucky slides the dildo out, and Steve can hear him jacking himself. Steve looks back over his shoulder and sees Bucky’s pupils so dilated his eyes look black, hand shaking as he runs it over his dick. 

“How do you do that?” Steve asks, and Bucky grunts. 

“Practice.” He lays on top of Steve, dick resting between his legs, and thrusts lazily. Steve tries to push back onto him, and Bucky holds his hips down. “Gentle,” he chides, and spreads Steve’s labia with this fingers, pressing the head of his dick against Steve’s entrance.

Steve feels himself go tense and still, waiting. 

“You breathing?” Bucky asks, and Steve takes a deep breath. “Nice and steady,” Bucky says, and presses in a little more firmly. The head of his dick feels so big, Steve groans, rolls his hips. 

“Attaboy,” Bucky says, kissing his shoulder, then his neck. He presses harder. “Relax,” he says softly, running his hand down Steve’s side. Bucky lets his body go lax, bearing most of the weight off to the side, breathes with Steve. “Just like that, relax,” Bucky says, hypnotic. 

And Steve’s so fucking angry, because he’s fine, he’s great, but he’s slipping. “Bucky?” he asks, and Bucky pauses. 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“I don’t want you to stop,” Steve says, because he really doesn’t, he needs to be fucked so bad it physically hurts. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” 

“Your control is fucking incredible,” Steve says honestly, no filter. 

“C’mon,” Bucky kisses his neck again. “Tell me.” 

“Please don’t hurt me,” Steve says, because the words are right there under the surface, and he’s been using a lot of effort to not say them. 

Bucky kisses under his ear, right along his scent gland. “Your voice sounded different, just then.” 

“I know,” Steve admits. “It’s the other part of me.” 

“Do you want me to stop?” Bucky asks, serious. 

“No,” Steve replies quickly, a little panicked at the thought. 

“Steady breathing,” Bucky reminds him. “Do you feel how scared your body is right now?” 

“Sorry,” Steve says miserably, because this is so fucking humiliating, and maybe it’d be better if he was in bed alone crying with a dildo no matter how much it hurt, because then it wouldn’t be Bucky’s problem, and Steve wouldn’t be the crazy person. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Bucky says softly, and rolls Steve over so he can see his face. “It took me weeks before I could touch myself long enough to come without having a panic attack,” he tells him, straight up. “Months before I could fuck someone.” 

Steve pulls him down, wraps his legs around him. “I can do it. I want it.” 

“You don’t need to prove anything,” Bucky says, like he doesn’t have massive hard-on. “Not to me.” 

Steve tips his head back, bares his throat, and hears the little responding rumble in Bucky’s chest. Bucky nuzzles in over his scent glands, and Steve whines, goes pliant. 

“Come on,” Steve says, “Come on, fuck me, it’s ok-“

Bucky presses in, testing, and Steve can feel the pressure for a few long seconds before he remembers to breathe. Then he slips in, filling Steve so slowly that they both moan. 

Bucky’s panting against Steve’s shoulder trying to hold himself back, and Steve runs his hand down his back just to touch him, gasps when he feels Bucky press in deeper. 

“You feel good?” Bucky asks, wrecked, and Steve nods. 

“You feel so good, Buck,” Steve says softly, and it’s weird, isn’t it, that he managed to stay in his body this long during a heat. But maybe this is why. “It’s ok, you can fuck me.” He’s tight like a glove around Bucky’s dick, like Bucky made a space for himself inside Steve, just enough. He’s perfect. “You’re so beautiful,” Steve says sincerely. 

Bucky smiles, kisses him, presses in deep so Steve can feel him against his cervix. Steve moans. 

“Yeah?” Bucky prompts, happy, and Steve nods, squirms. “You have to breathe,” Bucky warns him, and then he finally starts fucking him. 

Steve makes a noise and holds on, pants and whines and clenches around his dick, and it feels so fucking good that his fingers are digging into Bucky’s shoulder blades while he’s trying to come. 

“Easy,” Bucky says, and starts playing with the head of his dick, not quite hard enough to come again that way so soon, but-

“Oh,” Steve moans, nearly cries. “Oh, oh my god.” 

Steve clenches down hard on Bucky’s dick, babbles, begs him to fuck him deeper, and Bucky complies, the strong muscles of his thighs working hard as Steve’s lost between two points, the pressure inside him waiting to let go and the shocky feeling of Bucky’s fingers on his cock. 

Steve sobs, feels himself coming around Bucky’s dick, feels Bucky gasp and pull back sharply, the rush of wetness as Bucky comes inside him, and it’s such a relief. He registers fuzzily that Bucky pulled back so he wouldn’t knot Steve the first time, in case Steve needed him to pull out, and Steve is overcome by a wave of fondness so strong it floors him. He reaches down and gently squeezes Bucky’s knot where it rests outside of his body, watches Bucky’s jaw drop as he works through it, thrusting, still coming inside Steve. 

Finally, Bucky pulls out, leaving a warm trail of fluid in his wake, and pulls Steve up against him. Bucky idly slips two fingers inside Steve and pulls them out, covered in cum. 

Steve tilts his head back, and Bucky marks him, rubs the musky smell of his come into Steve’s scent glands. Steve keeps eye contact, puts two fingers inside himself, and does the same to Bucky when he bares his throat, longing. 

Bucky clears his throat. “Your heart ok?” Bucky asks hoarsely. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, enjoying the post-coital cuddles. Bucky’s so handsy, even cuddles in his sleep, apparently. Steve loves it, quietly. There’s the problem. “Except, I think it likes you too much,” he admits. 

Bucky’s expression goes soft. “I’m just the first person who was nice to you,” he shakes his head. “Take a nap, Stevie. I’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

Steve tucks his face into Bucky’s neck, hiding. It’ll be over eventually. But not yet. Not right now.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve’s in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, shaking. Bucky can feel Steve’s body weakly contracting around his knot, muscles too wrung out to come again so soon. Steve’s skin glows with a fine layer of sweat, his forehead resting on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky rubs two fingers where they’re joined, getting them slick. 

They’ve moved past pleasure now, and into pain control; Bucky had to pop a Viagra a couple hours back to keep up. He moves his fingers back, pressing at Steve’s asshole. Steve’s whole body shivers. 

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, and Steve just nods against his shoulder, draws in a shaky breath. 

Steve isn’t the most submissive client he’s taken on, not by far. Bucky remembers an alpha boy in rut who only came when he was knotted (and panicked every time Bucky got close, but they figured it out). Bucky thinks that out of heat, Steve might get enjoy getting toppy. 

Still, he has submissiveness in him- when Bucky grips tight around his wrists and his whole body goes pliant, when he whines softly and offers himself every time Bucky’s teeth brush over his neck. He can see how Rumlow might have watched him, and gotten to him. And why Steve has fought so hard to not respond to an alpha’s touch. He goes under easy, now that he knows he can trust Bucky. 

Or, Bucky amends mentally, now that he’s desperate. Bucky feels Steve’s ass tighten around his fingers and hums. 

“There you go,” he says, and Steve makes a high noise into his shoulder and comes, gasping. Bucky leans over to the nightstand, grabs the inhaler, and cradles the back of Steve’s neck to support it. 

“In,” he instructs, and Steve takes a shaky breath as Bucky depresses the medicine. Bucky tries to offer it again, and Steve waves it off, looking chagrined. That’s fine; as long as he got one good puff, Bucky can let his stubborn ass go. 

Bucky squeezes his knot experimentally; he really doesn’t think he can come again. The Viagra will probably wear off soon anyway. He brushes back Steve’s sweaty hair to see his face, and snorts. Steve is passed out in his lap. 

Bucky shifts, gets himself comfortable in the pile of pillows. He gives Steve’s neck a casual nuzzle, licks over the bonding glands. He can feel the urge to bite down, and wants to roll his eyes at himself. Calm down, buddy. 

When the central a/c kicks in with a whir and Steve’s hair flutters in the afternoon light, Bucky knows he’s got it bad. He starts thinking of words like _goassamer_ and _golden_ , the kind of stuff he thought was profound in middle school, or the resonance he felt at expletives in the first spoken word basement he got dragged into. His fucking heart, indeed. 

It’ll pass. He’ll get Steve on the way to recovery, see him one more time to transition him to normal heats, then they’ll both move on. He’ll be happy to have met him. 

Right now, he buries his nose in Steve’s hair, waits till his knot goes down, and curls around Steve like he can keep him safe. 

*

Bucky feels Steve rubbing his forehead against his shoulder like a cat. 

“Morning,” Bucky greets, a little hoarse. 

“Morning,” Steve returns, resuming his rubbing. 

“Oh, you got your words,” Bucky notes, lifting a hand to rub under Steve’s ear. Steve makes an unmistakable deep-throated purr. 

“Kitten,” Bucky laughs, and Steve makes a face. 

“I got most of my brain back,” Steve announces, leaning over Bucky to crack open another Gatorade, then offer it to him. 

Bucky props his head up with his elbow, watches as Steve kisses his way down his sternum, to his belly. 

“Good morning,” Steve says to Bucky’s dick, which twitches a little in attention. It’s frankly a miracle, but Bucky’s always had a high sex drive. 

“My face’s up here,” Bucky raises an eyebrow, and Steve glances up at him. 

“Hmm,” Steve considers, and quickly looks back down. 

“C’mere you little shit,” Bucky growls, tickling Steve’s ribs, and Steve giggles. 

Bucky flips them, rubbing his dick on Steve’s belly. When he pulls back from kissing Steve, there’s a little glint in his eye. Bucky frowns. 

Steve wiggles up, spreads his legs, and starts fingering himself with a happy sigh. He tilts his head to the side, showing off the line of his throat. 

“You’re tryna make me do all the work,” Bucky grumbles. 

“Is it working?” Steve smirks, and pinches Bucky’s ass. 

Of course he knows it’s working. Steve can feel that it’s working every time he wiggles up against him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky shifts his hips, rubs his dick up between Steve’s legs. “You’re not sore?” 

Steve gives him a wry look. “You used a whole bottle of lube yesterday,” he says, giving the sheets a sharp smack. 

They are a bit crunchy. 

“Hmpf,” Bucky says, lining himself up. Steve relaxes, cause he thinks he’s getting what he wanted. “I’m feelin’ lazy though, so lay back and enjoy the ride,” he smirks. 

Steve gives him a bratty little eyeroll, but shifts his hips happily when Bucky starts to fuck him. Bucky leans down to kiss his pretty lips, and fucks him nice and slow, gentle. Steve pulls out of the kiss, turns his face away. He splays the thin fingers of his hand on Bucky’s lower back though, urging him on. 

“Shh,” Bucky says, enjoying watching him, feeling him without the overwhelming need to come. He keeps up the slow, steady rhythm, and Steve blinks fast. Bucky gets his hand around Steve’s dick, playing with the tip, then giving him a good pull, barely any friction, just enough pressure. 

Steve comes quickly, quietly, his mouth open as he draws in breath. Eventually he squirms a little from overstimulation, and Bucky pulls out, jerks himself ‘till he comes over Steve’s belly, hums happily as he rubs the cum in a bit. He’s got a thing for marking. 

Steve’s looking at him now, dry-eyed, like nothing happened. “You don’t gotta answer this,” Steve says. 

“Shoot,” Bucky returns, rubbing at the line of his hips. 

“You want kids?” 

Bucky hums. “Yeah,” he says, thinking. “I do. Some day.” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and Bucky shrugs. 

“’S not the worst thing. Plenty of kids out there who need parents. Could’ve done much worse.” He pillows his cheek on Steve’s stomach, scratches it lightly with his stubble. “If you’d’ve asked me a few years ago, I would’ve said I’d be dead by now, so. It turned out ok.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky tries not to shiver at the light touch. He rolls onto the sheets, and they protest with a loud _crunch_. 

“Bath,” they say in tandem, and Bucky scoops Steve up, lifting him. 

“I can walk!” Steve protests. 

“You sure can’t,” Bucky counters, but Steve squirms enough that Bucky puts him down. Steve’s legs shake, and he puts his hands out to fall gracefully into Bucky’s chest. 

“Fine,” Steve says, muffled. Bucky wraps an arm around his waist, and walks him over to sit on the toilet seat while he fills the tub. 

“Can we eat something?” Steve asks, swinging his feet. 

“Enjoy the present moment,” Bucky returns dryly, squirting bubble bath under the faucet. 

Steve gingerly makes his way over to the tub, tests the water with his fingers, and sinks in with a sigh. 

Bucky lowers himself in with a small splash, echoing Steve's sigh. They both lay back for a few moments, and Steve’s stomach growls loudly. Bucky sticks his foot in Steve’s lap. 

“Wish I could lick you clean,” Bucky says idly. “Too lazy.” 

“Bucky!” Steve actually blushes, and Bucky laughs inside. “That’s- that’s gross.” 

Bucky fumbles behind himself, locates the shampoo by feel, and tosses it over to Steve. 

Steve smells even nicer when he’s scrubbed clean, turns out. 

*

Steve’s there for a few more days, eating every time Bucky can get him to (breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, supper), and taking some walks on the trails they have meandering over the grounds. Bucky invites him to join his Pilates routine, but Steve opts to eat a sandwich and do some catcalling from the sidelines. 

Steve’s beautiful during his heat. Outside of his heat, he’s even better- witty, sarcastic, sharp as a tack. Kind, awkward. Morally righteous. Bucky learns about his co-workers, his art, his hopes for the future, now that he believes he might have one. 

It’s not long before Steve’s back for his second heat. Bucky knows they can both feel time pulling their relationship to a close, feels Steve pulling away to prepare himself. It’s natural. 

Bucky only slips once, says something stupid in the heat of the moment about wanting to keep him like this. Steve doesn’t freak out, fortunately, just gives Bucky a look afterward. 

“Why would you want a, a salt and vinegar chip when you could have,” Steve scrunches his eyebrows and Bucky presses a thumb where they join till Steve bats it away, “a corn-fed son of the heartland Dorito.” 

Bucky loses it. “A what now?” 

Steve shrugs, smiling but still a bit self-conscious. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, shuffling into his personal space till their eyelashes could practically brush together. “Maybe I like salt and vinegar chips. Maybe salt and vinegar is my _favorite_ kind of chip.” 

Steve pecks him on the lips. “Smooth talker,” he sighs, and rolls on top of him. 

*

Steve’s leaving. He’s got his bag packed, and Happy’ll be here soon. Bucky’s got a nice chunk of time off- he gets about as much time off as he does work hours. That’ll be nice. 

He’s happy. He’s really proud of Steve- he’s off the suppressants, says he doesn’t crave ‘em anymore, doesn’t need ‘em, and Bucky believes him. He’s going to go back to the bakery and start working on his gallery opening in July and he’s gonna do great. He’s gonna be alive, most importantly. Steve’s done good work, been brave as hell. 

“Time to go,” Steve says, and doesn’t move to grab his bag. 

Bucky hoists it for him. “I know you can,” he says before Steve opens his mouth. “Old times sake.” His heart’s speeding up. It’s ridiculous. They’ve only known each other a couple months. 

_Steve took his socks off as soon as he was inside all through elementary school_ , his treacherous brain reminds him. _Bucky had a tree in his backyard he called Old Faithful. Steve got thrown in dumpsters a few times for sticking up for kids others picked on. He’s got a cap on one of his teeth from it._

Steve follows him out to the curb, sits on the bench next to Bucky. They’re quiet till Happy shows up, judiciously taking the bag to the trunk, and opening the door for Steve. 

“Hey shrimp,” Happy greets, “how’s the ocean? Salty?” 

“You still Happy when you’re Grumpy?” Steve shoots back. "Dopey? Sleepy?" He doesn’t get into the car. Happy wisely leaves it, goes back to the driver’s seat. 

Steve turns to Bucky, and Bucky wishes he wouldn’t. He can feel his throat trying to swell, and he gulps trying to keep it back. 

“Thanks,” Steve says awkwardly, and Bucky gives him the hug he needs. 

“Take care of yourself,” Bucky says seriously. “You’re important.” 

Steve moves back once Bucky releases the hug, doesn’t meet his eyes. “You too.” He ducks quickly into the car, and the tinted windows hide everything but the quick wave of his hand. 

Bucky waves back, digs his fingernails into the palm of his other hand. He’s never felt it like this before, but he knew he might, someday. He’s prepared himself for it. 

The gear shifts from park to drive, and Bucky feels the panic hit. He won’t have Steve’s contact info; Steve will be in New York City, one out of a million faces, and Bucky will never see him again. His legs feel weak with the need to run, do something. The car starts to roll forward, and Bucky can feel a sob crawling it’s way up from his lungs, gasps in a breath, deep and hurt. 

His body knows it’s over, has a wisdom about it he can’t let his mind follow, fights himself not to move. The car turns the corner, and Bucky feels like he’s going to throw up, needs to run away from this, can’t let it catch up with him. 

He makes off towards the woods and runs, runs, deep shattered sobs turning into hiccups, until his body's too exhausted to feel anything. His face feels puffy, and he's covered in snot and sweat. He could use a shower. His feet lead him back to his room. 

He flicks on the light, and there’s a note on the table. Happy’s notebook, but not his writing. He frowns, looks closer. 

_I don’t know if this is even allowed,_ the note says, _but if you find yourself hankering for a salt and vinegar chip, here’s how to find one. SR_

Beneath it is a phone number, an address, and an email. Bucky sits down on the bed, pulls his phone from his pocket, and dials the number. 

_You’re welcome,_ Happy’s handwriting is scrawled at the bottom of the note, and Bucky smiles. 

“Hey,” someone answers, sounding wrecked and clearly trying to hide it. 

“Three months,” Bucky says, not sounding much better. 

“What?” Steve asks, partially covers the receiver to blow his nose. 

“It’s allowed after at least three months. It’s to let the client have a life of their own, decide what they want before they let themselves get wrapped up in someone else’s needs.” 

“Oh,” Steve says hesitantly, “that makes sense.” 

“I wanna go to the diner by your house,” Bucky says, and hears Steve draw in a sharp breath. “I wanna eat shitty fried food with you and watch X-Files re-runs and see how much you hate me when I make you watch Kirk vs. The Gorn.” 

Steve laughs, breath hiccupping a little. “Ok,” he says, “Ok.” 

“You ok?” Bucky asks. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, sincere. “You?” 

“I’m great, baby. I’m floatin’. I’m gonna check back in a few months, see where you’ve got your feet, alright? You keep seeing that counselor you’re set up with.” 

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, “alright. I can wait.” 

*

There’re the blue sugars, white sugars, pink sugars in the dish. Nothing else. The ketchup is Huntz and the décor is loud and clashing. The table top feels a little sticky. Bucky’s grinning like he’s just got invited into Eleven Madison Park, cause someone with bony elbows and a bright shock of blond hair just stepped through the door. 

Steve sees Bucky seeing him, and smiles, looks down for a moment, shy. He's got a tattoo now, side of his neck, right under his ear. “Hey,” he says casually, sliding into the other side of the bench. 

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says, offering him a hand. 

“Steve Rogers,” Steve smiles, taking it. 

“So what do you do, Steve?” Bucky teases. 

“Oh, art,” Steve slides the coffeepot over, pours himself a cup. “And I work at this bakery with a bunch of jackasses. I love it. You?” 

“Yeah, I love my job,” Bucky says, ripping open a couple packets of sugar to add to his own cup, now that it’s cooled down. “It’s got some crazy hours, though. ‘Cause I’m fucking other people. You cool with that?” 

“Well, I’ve never been the jealous type. As long as you know who you come home to, at the end of the day.” Steve stirs creamer into his cup. “You got any family?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky smiles, “I got two sisters. They’re my little princesses, you know?” 

“You see them often?” 

“I do,” Bucky confirms. “You think I can order waffles and chicken together?”

Steve snorts. “Please. ‘Course you can. This is ‘Muricah.” He looks up at Bucky. “Missed you.” 

“Missed you too, punk,” Bucky returns, warmed. 

“I got one more question for you,” Steve says slowly, “then you can update me on your books. You said something about leftover love once, and I thought it was the dumbest thing-“ 

Bucky snorts, and Steve laughs. 

“No really, I did. But I can’t stop thinking about it now. What’d you mean?” 

“I meant that I had a lot of love to give,” Bucky says steadily, “and I needed somewhere to give it. That was what made me sad, more than anything. I thought no one would want it, or best case they’d hurt me with it.” 

“You think that anymore?”

“Nahh,” Bucky answers easily. 

“Me neither,” Steve nods, and flips his menu over. “You wanna split a shake?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, references in the text: 
> 
> Andrea Gibson's spoken word poem, Walmart, is referenced (the line Bucky's referencing is "Your fucking heart") link: http://ohandreagibson.tumblr.com/walmart
> 
> Kirk vs. the Gorn is Star Trek
> 
> The "what do I do with all this leftover love" is Sierra DeMulder: https://sierrademulder.tumblr.com/post/124676441259/but-what-do-i-do-with-all-this-leftover-love-my
> 
> "corn-fed son of the heartland" is a reference, but i can't remember where i read it and google isn't helping. let me know if you know so i can give credit?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :)


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